The Monster Hunter
by WillSherJohnKhan
Summary: Unilock. Sherlock Holmes deductions about Molly Hooper prove not entirely correct…
1. Prologue

Sherlock Holmes hated university. He found everything around him: his classes, the other students, and the teachers all so predictable, and boring.

It took him less than a week to alienate almost everyone around him. The only person pleased to see him was Billy Wiggins, who supplemented his meagre earnings by selling drugs. But it wasn't only Sherlock's lofty, intolerant manner that ensured his unpopularity.

His uncanny, some would say creepy ability to 'deduce' his fellow students, and teachers for that matter, guaranteed that everyone gave him a wide birth.

This wasn't to say he couldn't be charming when he chose to be. He was well aware that his striking good looks had garnered a lot of attention from both sexes, and he was not averse to using this to his advantage, especially if there was something he needed.

The most put upon target of Sherlock's manipulations was Molly Hooper. His interest in solving crimes and hers in pathology were, as far as Sherlock was concerned, a match made in heaven. All he had to do was smile at her and she would willingly supply him with whatever body parts, or access to the lab that she could.

Sherlock was certain he knew all that there was to know about 'Mousy Molly'. He was soon to discover that he couldn't be more wrong if he tried.


	2. Not Who He Thought She Was

LONDON UNIVERSITY

If Molly Hooper had her way she'd spend a damn sight more attention to her studies than prowling the streets of London after midnight.

It certainly wasn't the type of thing she'd ever imagined she'd become involved with. It had, more or less been imposed upon her out of a necessity to understand why.

Three months before, her best friend, Meena Patel had been savagely murdered. Her body had literally been torn to shreds by a creature known as a Wendigo.

But, Molly debated with herself as she prepared her well-stocked backpack; with everything she was likely to need for tonight's encounter, in reality what choice did she have.

She hadn't believed in such fantastical creatures, but Meena had. And it had cost her friend her life.

Even now, every time Molly closed her eyes, she could still recall in horrific detail how that dreadful creature had killed her friend.

Now Molly was determined not only to get justice for her friend, but to ensure that no one else would suffer the same fate. And so, she would do everything she could to protect the innocent against such diabolical, deadly creatures.

No matter the personal cost.

UNIVERSITY GROUNDS

Sherlock had just snuck out of his dorm, intent on making his rendezvous with Wiggins to obtain the drugs he needed to survive another tedious week. He'd adopted the persona of 'Sheeza', an uncouth individual with greasy hair, three day stubble adorning his upper lip and chin, and with a frankly appalling dress sense for these excursions. But he needed to be careful to make certain that his weekly late night activity went undetected. Should it be discovered then he could bid a final and absolute farewell to any chance of getting his degree.

And his family had made it absolutely clear that there would be no more chances, if he got himself expelled, yet again, for any reason he would forfeit his right to his share of the family inheritance. Mycroft had determined that there was a 98.7% chance of this happening, given his record for being thrown out of every university he had so far been enrolled in.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy the course he'd enrolled in, he loved it. The problem was that he generally knew more than those put in charge to teach the subjects.

So he just tuned out. Not that his teachers minded, they much preferred a silent Sherlock to the smart arse who continually interrupted them, to correct them.

One advantage was that at least it gave him the opportunity to start to build from scratch his Mind Palace, a memory technique he intended to perfect far beyond what was currently believed possible.

What he sorely needed was something extraordinary to motivate his exceptional brain. That special ingredient that could give him the same adrenalin rush, the same excitement and stimulation he found with cocaine.

But that wasn't likely to happen any time soon.

He was just about to sprint across the grounds and climb the concrete fence to freedom, when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning to get a better look, he was surprised to find that his fellow escapee was none other than Molly Hooper.

At least he thought it was Molly, dressed as she was in dark coloured skin-tight and figure hugging long sleeved sweater and leggings. Her hair was pulled back into a French plat, covering her eyes was a mask and slung over her shoulder was a backpack.

His initial thought, ridiculous as it was, was that she was off to do a bit of burglary. She certainly looked every inch a sexy cat burglar.

But that idea was quickly blown right out of the water when he saw what else she was carrying.

A crossbow.

What was sweet, compliant little mousy Molly doing?

Intrigued, he observed her quick and agile step as she made her way to her chosen escape root. In admiration Sherlock watched as Molly easily scaled the wall, before quickly disappearing over the other side.

Two minutes later and he too had successfully managed to clamber over the wall, and was in pursuit of the petite form ahead of him.

THE DARK STREETS OF LONDON

Sherlock, despite not being one to frequent the gymnasium, nonetheless regarded himself as very fit. However, twenty minutes later with his lungs on the verge of collapse, forced to pause briefly once again so he could regain his breath he had to admit that, small though she was, Molly Hooper was proving devilishly difficult to keep up with.

He was about to set off after her again, only to discover she was nowhere in sight.

Where the devil had she gone?

He waited a few more minutes, but when she still hadn't reappeared Sherlock debated keeping his rendezvous with Wiggins, when he heard the disturbing sounds of a very physical altercation behind some bushes a little way ahead.

Molly was in danger!

Sprinting over to the bushes, the sight that greeted him had Sherlock skidding to a halt.

Molly didn't need his assistance, for she had the upper hand in the situation. Standing with one foot placed firmly on the abdomen of a clawed… creature, half woman, half bird that lay squirming on the ground.

And then she raised her crossbow.

Realising what she intended to do Sherlock called out, "Molly! No!"

Startled, Molly briefly adverted her eyes, which was a mistake.

The creature used the distraction to its advantage, shoving Molly back, causing her to lose her balance and drop the crossbow.

Too late Sherlock realised the danger, as the creature turned its attention to him, toppling him to the ground. But then it gave a shriek, and exploded, its sooty remains covering Sherlock. Looking frantically around, Sherlock spotted Molly, crossbow in hand making her way casually over to him.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he demanded.

"A Harpy," came the calm response.

Sherlock accepted the hand she offered as he unsteadily got to his feet.

"You should never take on a Harpy, or any other monster for that matter unless you have the right equipment," Molly advised coolly.

Dusting away the creature's remains, Sherlock noted wryly. "I'll remember that for the next time."

Molly raised an enquiring eyebrow. "So, think you've found something better than whatever your current drug of choice is then?" she queried.

"Definitely," came the enthusiastic reply.


End file.
